Worldwide Exclusive: The Guild's Latest Announcement

Guild fans the world over have come to expect the unexpected from Felicia Day and her creation, The Guild. Now comes the unexpectable unexpected. Which is unexpecteder.



Thanks to xtranormal for the tools.

Zuzu's Petals! Zuzu's Petals!

You know the drill, my little gingersnap.



God and sinner reconciled, indeed.

BloodWaterGodMagic vs. Charlie Brown

Thanks in no small part to Charlie Brown's Christmas Special, we (Christians, non-Christians, and Anti-Christians alike) have been duly guilted into struggling against the insidious and confounding spirit of "commercialism" at Christmas.

Television advertisements extoll the "magic of Christmas" and suggest that that deep and meaningful magic is contained in a Lexus. If you want the magic, you ought to buy one.

I think the ads may be right.

You've got to remember that I come from a magical land of barbed wire and hog manure citadels. The rocks where I make my bed are ensorcelled, and my cave buzzes with the childlike whispers of the faerie-dazzled.

So I don't have the knee-jerk rejection of claims of magic that most humans do. Even if they come from a car dealership.

The fact is this: Christmas is magical. You know this to be true.

The question is, what is the source of the magic?

Some will say that it is a cultural magic: society has determined the Christmas season to be one of familial homecomings and bonding, a time to party with friends and receive presents.

Others will note that there is an inherent magic in the acts of Christmas: that, at some level, Father Christmas is a real spirit, and that gifts are his icons, imbued with some fragment of that unidentifiable joy.

Another possible source is a social-personal one: that there is, as part of the so-called "collective unconscious" a natural "need" for Christmas magic, a sort of primordial, protean phenomenon structured to salve a person's spirit whilst drawing him into the Unknown Greater.

These all have their merits, but none of these notions have the ability to completely describe the source of Christmas magic. After all, gifts can disappoint, depression afflicts, acutely, the lonely at the holidays, and Christmas or its pagan alternatives are celebrated widely, but not universally.

Besides, anyone who knows magic knows that its true source is more, well...sacrificial than that. Whether eye of newt or iocane powder, real magic has components that are rare and hard fought, almost exclusively bought at the risk, and often loss, of blood or life.

Some time ago, near a gnawed-on feed trough, a god burst forth through the blood and water of his mother, in the helpless person of an infant named Yeshua. Certainly, there were miraculous spirits in the world, and strange tidings and joy, but those were ripples from the source of the magic of that hour: a wriggling, swaddled and bloody baby born amidst dung and wheat mash. Those ripples continued out, and later drew rich and educated men to bring extravagant gifts to the toddler to celebrate his reign.

They may as well have left him a Lexus.

That's why I don't have a huge problem with the so-called "commercialization" of Christmas. All of it, the presents and food and excess and laughter, can be taken to points of abuse or exhaustion, but they don't have to be, and, often, more than often, they are not. And these things only exist as radiating ripples of the Magic of Christmas, which has its source in Our Savior, born a man, all those years ago.

The so-called "True Meaning" of Christmas is not "Stop Being Materialistic." It is "Start Living Abundantly in the One Who Loves Abundantly."

And sometimes, just sometimes, an abundant life may be found in the driver's seat of dazzling new Lexus.

Havah: Addenda

I was discussing the novel with an imaginary friend of mine, and I realized that I forgot to mention some big ideas that are very organic to Tosca Lee's Havah: The Story of Eve:

The origin of the Lilith myth
The origin of the "Venus of Willendorf" statuette (or its predecessor)
The truth and myth of what we now call "race."
The dichotomy of the natural strain and natural primacy of monogamy.
The substance of divorce.
The meaning of animal sacrifice.
The "primitive/progressive" myth.
An exploration of our distance from God.
The importance of blood and death for the redemption of men.
The distinction of naming.
Man in God's image.

And...
The obviousness of God's handiwork in childbirth.
For those of you keeping score at home.

Fear of Girls 3: High Rollers

Doug and Raymond are finally back with their continued quest to avoid meaningful human contact.

And Church.

Happily, they fail.







Looks like their venture paid off in the veritable bonanza of gaming glory that is Mohogo.com.

I've got to wonder if this is what Felicia Day went through?

PS - A new series seeking distribution, Midnight Chronicles, starring FoG's Charles Hubbell has some very cool trailers up now.

Havah: The Story of Eve - Further Explorations

If you enjoyed Anita Diamant's The Red Tent, Tosca Lee's Havah: The Story of Eve will leave you breathless. Havah exceeds the excellent The Red Tent in nearly every category: delving into more intimate historical detail, stretching the scope of speculation with sound research, and breathing life into characters that could so easily fall flat. Importantly, Havah avoids the stereotyping of our ancestors that plagued some parts of The Red Tent.

If you think you know the plot of Havah, think again. It truly is an experience you won't soon forget.

Here are just a handful of the questions that I found being addressed through the course of the compelling narrative. Not only did I experience the alien lives of our ancestors and origins in Havah, but I also was subtly challenged to contemplate all manner of mysteries both great and small,* including:

The source of iron content in human blood.
The roots of Satan's "Lord of the Flies" monniker.
Death as an alternative control.
The miracle of self-awareness.
Insects as sin-amplifiers.
The concept of naive superintelligence.
The meaning of language.
The origin of dragon mythology.
The birth of idolatry.
The importance of (what we now call) incest.
The meaning of guilt.

And there is much more than that. There is blood in this book. Bad blood. Good blood. God's blood.

When Demon: A Memoir debuted in 2007, it became readily evident that a new, inventive and meaningful storyteller (in the deepest sense of that word) had burst upon the scene.

Demon: A Memoir and Havah: The Story of Eve are companion books, but this is unlikely to be apparent at first blush. Though a great span of time (from origin to present) separates their settings and all but two characters (both of whom are critical, but also almost never overtly "on stage") are entirely different, both stories make it clear that a new world (and worldview) of Providence and the fantastic has been birthed by a most capable midwife in Tosca Lee.

*One of my favorite qualities of Havah is that there is a subtle shift from romance languages (in the Garden) to grittier Anglo-Saxon vocabulary in exile. Lee is nothing if not a writer who builds in layers.

Havah: Why We Matter

If Joan Armatrading gets down to the DNA, I know an author who goes much, much deeper than that.

Tosca Lee takes on the very moment of human consciousness in Havah: The Story of Eve. Her sophomore effort brims with texture and flavor, character and real ideas. It also might stand a little too close and pin you against the wall until you give yourself over. And it won't necessarily make you a better person. At least, not at first.

The reader will enter the thoughts of Eve (the titular Havah) from her awakening, through a personal, familial and societal arc that doesn't just touch on important questions about origins, but delves deeply and puts muscle, skin and, crucially, teeth, to the oft-overlooked framework of what we think we know.

I've written in the past that Lee's first effort, Demon: A Memoir was likely the best novel written in the new century. Havah exceeds Demon in scope, character and detail, and, on those three merits, now wears the crown.

There's a great scene in the film Aliens where the good guys are bunkered safely inside a room and tracking the monsters progress against their location. One of the marines is using an infrared (I think) tracker to see where the beasts are, and is calling out their distance from the room. 9 meters, 8 meters, and so on, sort of a "wait until you see the whites of their eyes before shooting" moment.

When the marine says, "6 meters," Ripley (played by Sigourney Weaver) says, "They can't be. That's in the room."

And it dawns on them. The monsters are bigger, stronger, more numerous, and, most chillingly, smarter than they imagined.

That's Lee's latest effort for you. One of the best living voices, one of the most disarming and delving literary minds, is actually getting better.

God help us.

DNA Don't Fade Away

Few humans are as obsessively particular about cutting loose as Joan Armatrading.

The Guild Season 2 Premiere

If for nothing other than the classic Raid at Clara's Gate, Season 2 launches with a bang.*


Link the Loot

This show is so spectacular. And as a bonus, it includes the world's best T-1 related gag ever.

*Okay, the bang is the back of Codex's head against a stack of books, but still.

Where the Troll Goes When the Troll's Not Here

Everyday I write the book.

Troll Music Means Fighting

Piano fights are excellent. Nothing like clubbing some poor sod with a Steinway.

The Sort of Daylight a Stone Troll Can Stand

Trolls always change in the daylight.

Fear of Hymns

Sometimes the Revised Troll Version (RTV) of God's Word results in awkward hymns. But enthusiasm counts for something.

Wood Gnomes Fear Girls

The part about wood trolls is totally true.

Bruised Not Broken

Bruising and breaking.

It is what we do. It is what we survive.

Trollbermaker

The most insecure braggadocio in the world. This is what trolls sound like when they whisper to themselves.

Can't Tell Trolls Nothing

A rare glimpse inside troll culture. Of course, and as always, humans are hired in place of real troll actors.

Because we tend to confuse the film equipment for craft services bagels.

Still Alive?

Havah Inspires a Free and Easy Contest

Tosca Lee, author of Havah (which I am currently reading*), is giving away a few interesting Genesis-related prizes. Just go to Toscology to enter the drawing. Yeah, it's that simple.

By the way Havah: The Story of Eve, officially released today. Look for it a B&N or wherever you shop, today!

*I'll have a review up when I finish, but I do have to say that any book that switches from French, Latin and Greek-origin language to Anglo-Saxon sixty pages in just to make a point is well ahead of the game.

Lommel's March to the Sea

First, the genteel application for the Evil League of Evil by the Gentleman Caller:



Which somehow leads to this strange polar transmission/powerpoint presentation:



Bad Horse would be making a huge mistake by galloping past the Lommel.

Evil League of Evil NEEDS Lommel Lead of Lommel

If this private, unread online journal of mine could be encapsulated into a single three-minute video, it would be done as follows:



Make your video application to the Evil League of Evil today.

Into the Breach: The Marcher Lord in History and Legend.

As I await the arrival of the print novels I ordered from Marcher Lord Press, I thought I'd mention two of the e-books that MLP has also published.

The first is Into the Breach: The Marcher Lord in History and Legend.

This quickly became an invaluable resource to me as a writer. Castle expert Lise Hull's meticulous review of a number of (in many cases, still-standing) borderland castles and their operation in Medieval Britain illustrates the impact that the very concept of the Marcher Lord (A "March" or "Mark" being a medieval term for border) has, even today.

In addition to historical fiction, this book would be very useful to any writer who writes stories in genres ranging from post-apocalyptic "last stand" to gothic horror to westerns to science fiction (esp. "outpost"-type tales).

Any story that involves an imperfectly self-sufficient enclosed society at the frontier of security would benefit greatly from the information packed into this wonderful little e-book. In honor of Marcher Lord Press's launch, it has been discounted for a limited time to $3.

New Publisher Launches - Order Books TODAY

Marcher Lord Press has boots on the ground. Remember to buy two or more of their books today, and you will also receive two really cool (including the gorgeous A Marcher Lord Gallery: Speculative Art by Christian Artists) e-books for free.

Go here to order their new titles.

Now.

Fantasy Fans Undie! - New Publisher Launches Line of Fantasy Novels

I know I've been buried in the lab, mixing up troll medicine for far too long, but I did need to Punxatawny my head out from the depths for an important message:

Marcher Lord Press launches three titles on October 1. If, on that day (and that day only) you buy two or more of their first three books off the press, and you'll receive a pair of really, really cool e-books for free.

Register now w/ Marcher Lord, and you'll be eligible for really cool prizes from them, including the Grand Prize: A Trip for Two to 2009 COMIC CON!!!! [HOLY SMOKE! Look at the huge list of prizes! I want the 50th ed. Deluxe LOTR - so back off!]

So, those of you (like me) who couldn't find the cash this year to go see Nathan Fillion, Neil Patrick Harris, Felicia Day, Wil Wheaton, Joss Whedon and a cast of bajillions of authors and movie, comic and video game stars taking over the city of San Diego and turning it into a nerd wasteland, you have no excuse.

A chance at free tickets to Comic Con. Register this week at Marcher Lord.

Then buy the books on Day One, October 1!

Yum...Chimera jerky.

Game Theory Answers Ancient Religious Question

What I find most remarkable about the modern mind is how frequently it is shocked to find that the ancients actually weren't insufferable gits.

Yet another source in my bibliography for my forthcoming imaginary work of non-fiction: We Are the Stupid Ones (But Won't Remember That Anyway). Coming soon, courtesy of Totally Random House Books.

New Short Fiction: Subterranea, by Mike Duran

I've been mixing up the medicine in the hidden laboratory of corn, but I have come across a charming little horror story by Mike Duran here.

Subterranea plumbs the depths of...well...the depths. And it is free...at least in terms of a cost to your wallet. I can't guarantee it won't cost you your soul.

Fear of Girls 3 Trailers

You may need major surgery.

After laughing so hard!

The Fear of Girls 3 trailer is engaging audiences around the county.



Tom Lommel, Scott Jorgenson and Charles Hubbell have reunited again, sort of like the James and Younger boys did in Northfield. Let's hope this adventure goes off just as splendidly! Perhaps pie will be served.

Truly, a milestone in Fantasy Gaming. For the first time in my life, my pants are diceless. Peew!

And, for you intrepid few (er, one) who has scrolled down this far, a wonderful demo of the game's character generation process.



(And yes, I meant "county.")

Dr. Horrible Returns

Hulu got AT&T to sponsor Dr. Horrible, so the entire show is available once again online:



...but, for how long?

Eric Violette: Hollywood Superstar, except not in Hollywood (nor very well-known)

Because television commercials are the most critical contribution that man has made to society since Offa of Mercia built a really good wall out of dirt--Good dirt walls are hard to come by, after all--I bear this planet's burden for highlighting the often overlooked television commercial work of otherwise unheralded actors.

Today's entry is Eric Violette. The talented French-Canadian actor does work that is at turns comic and strange, dramatic and ridiculous. Were we not living in an age where the avant-garde was passe', you might call him avant-garde. Were we not living in an age where the passe' is now considered avant-garde, well...you still might call him avant-garde.

Also, he speaks French. Yes, he's that good of an actor.

I highlight him today for his groundbreaking work in a trilogy of short films that redefine the ancient art of the television jingle.

That's right, he's the hero of the FreeCreditReport.com ads. And he's today's unsung television commercial star:



The important thread that ties the video tryptych together is that the pirate hat from the first commercial appears briefly in the back seat of the car in the final one. Thus the second ad is revealed as the wide-scoping bit, providing the large central frame that gives definition to the accompanying "bookends." Or maybe it is just a pirate hat in the back seat.

"It's Pat!* Answers" edition.

You humans, and your demands for answers. Don't get me wrong, there are answers to important questions, but your very nature resists them. In fact, questions are often like a tree: the visible part (i.e. the words we use) are like leaves that show signs of illness. The majority of human questions are variants of "Heal my leaves!" The problem is that the actual disease is in the roots.

Jesus answers a deep question often with an answer that simultaneously skirts the question's branches and buries into the root. If we are to have answers, then Jesus provides an excellent model for their delivery. Pat answers may be technically correct, but it is always important to ask, do they address the symptom, or the cause? It costs us more to answer questions with a true ear than with a quick tongue.

Q: Who is my neighbor?

A: Have mercy. Be a neighbor.

Q: Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left.

A: It is not mine to grant.

Q: Why couldn't we drive out that demon?

A: That kind requires prayer.

John the Baptist tells us to "Prepare the way of the Lord," not to "Provide answers for the way of the Lord." Though St. Paul admonishes us to have ready answers, part of having answers is also making space, preparing a way, leaving room for the Ru'ach to move without our meddling. Pat answers are like laundry baskets: great tools, lousy vehicles.

*Incidentally, the very funny creator of the Pat character, Julia Sweeney, from Saturday Night Live starred in her own one-woman show "And God Said Ha!" and is a deeply religious atheist. And thus, the circle draws to its incompletion.

Dr. Horrible, Billy Buddy and Melville

Dr. Horrible's secret identity (typically thought of as superheroes and supervillains' "real" or "normal" selves) is Billy, whom Penny affectionately refers to as "Billy Buddy."

The name is far too similar to Herman Melville's famous title character of the unfinished and long-lost novella, Billy Budd. Budd is the nearly angelic "pure good" character who is executed by the good, just, yet ultimately legalistic and cowardly Captain Vere for the crime of murder. The so-called victim of the murder is the nearly demonic Claggart. Budd accepts his fate, even to the point of calling on God to bless his executioner.

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog seems to reverse the roles a little, but stays true to the themes, of Billy Budd. Billy Buddy is likeable, sweet and endearing, but he's the one with a seemingly friendly and justified demon inside (with jerks like Captain Hammer running around, isn't he allowed a little vitriol?). Captain Hammer slides almost directly into the Captain Vere role - the law-abiding, by the book, good guy who nonetheless can't transcend the letter of the law to the spirit of it: in other words, he's good and just, but also legalistic and uncaring for those whom he defends. So, in Joss Whedon's version of Melville, Billy Buddy is the one becoming an agent for the Thoroughbred of Sin, while Penny is the pure good in the Billy Budd role who is nonetheless an innocent catalyst for disaster.

Character Arc: Vork's Turning Point Catalyst

In my mind (I'm being a little arbitrary here), there are three main elements to a good turning point for a character.

1. The turning point needs to have motive.
2. It needs to be a logical extension of the character.
3. It needs to come at the last possible instant, when the character is forced from within to make the change.

Also, when you are dealing with a story with multiple characters, it is really great when the turning points harmonize, coming at different places within the narrative, but not in a predictable rhythm, and certainly not all at once. When character arcs rise and fall, seemingly independently of one another, the story can gain strength and depth. Kind of like a choir.

There have been times when I've thought something was written poorly, but it had nothing to do with style, grammar or emotional depth: it had to do with badly timed, poorly placed or unmotivated turning points.

A good example of harmonic turning points can be seen in the scriptwriting for The Guild. (ahem, you have watched the Guild, right?)

Six characters with diverse goals and objectives converge under extraordinary circumstances, and in harmony, build both to the climax of the story and to their own individual turning points.

Take Vork/Herman, played by Jeff Lewis. Vork is a man living in the shadow of society, subsisting off the social security checks of his deceased grandfather. He is thrifty, cautious, and, aside from his online persona (and recognized leader of the Guild), almost totally anti-social. If he ever goes out, which is rare, he sneaks his own beverages into restaurants. Yeah, he's that guy.

He encloses himself in obscurity at home, sealing himself from outside contact even though the people with which he associates online all live within a half hour of his house. He's a hermit, and likes it that way. The first conflict for this character arises when he's asked to venture outside.

His tipping point comes early in the storyline, in episode 3. When Codex/Cyd asks her online friends to meet in the real world for the first time, Vork's resistance to such a thing (which has already been well-established in the subtext of his character) is vocalized. Even after he exhausts his logic-based excuses for not meeting, he resorts to his base emotion:

"...and also, I don't wanna."

His turning point comes shortly thereafter, when Codex insists that it is critical to the group.

Vork's turning point occurs at about the 3:00 mark, and resolves by 3:12:

The moment of transition from hermit to face-to-face meeter passes briefly (A well-placed turning point is often subtle, and usually even more subtle with supporting characters.) but it is significant. Vork agrees to venture out.

Why does it work?

1. The motive for his change is laid early on. Vork is online leader, he's well organized, and, although he has secured his isolation by unscrupulously living off of government checks for the deceased, he was a dutiful grandson, caring for his grandfather while he lived. Herman/Vork has a sense of duty and thrift, organization and an aspiration to lead, all of which lead him to isolation...but also to his willingness to break from isolation. In other words, the conflict stems from "two divergent choices which stem from the same motive." His leadership of the online group provides justification for his hermitage, but also impetus for him to venture out.
2. It is telling that his decision is clinched by Codex's appeal to his acumen for organization. Vork has a choice of two risks, not one. If he follows his nature and doesn't meet face-to-face, he risks the online group. If the offline group falls apart, so does The Guild. More than that, by not meeting, he risks his control. Doing the thing he does not want -- socializing -- is the most certain way of ensuring that he doesn't lose what is most important to him: his (online) friends.
3. The consequences of not meeting will be immediate: Codex is at her wits' end, Zaboo is at a fever pitch, Bladezz has betrayed the Guild. The threat to the group is at the gates, and Vork must make the choice. Had it come any earlier, it would have lacked tension, any later, and it would have been too late to alter the course of events.

Also, and I think this is a key: even though all the characters are persuaded to meet face-to-face in this scene, it is only a turning point for Vork. A resistance to meeting is shared by almost all, but is only a bugbear for one.

If I get the chance, I'm going to look at another Guild character's turning point to contrast the two, and see if I can break the harmony down at the writing level.

In any case, good writers for the screen, stage or print know how to place a character's turning point in the right position.

Dr. Horrible and the Thoroughbred of Sin

Not that anyone reads these (fortunately, for the sanity and well-being of the civilized world) but just in case:

SPOILERS ahem SPOILERS WITH A CAPITAL "s" SPOILERS to follow.






Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog is, well, relatively self-explanatory. It is a video blog that you can sing along with about a would-be supervillian named Dr. Horrible.

I've seen it, you've seen it, we've all seen it. But what's it all about?

In the first two acts, in true post-modern fashion, the show establishes sympathy for the lead character, Dr. Horrible (played by Neil Patrick Harris). This works because it plays off the well-worn anti-hero motiff. The anti-hero argument is basically this: traditional heroes are actually symbolic of the shiny veneer on the oppressive Social System, and the real hero is the flawed, unsuper fellow who can see through that facade, and fight against it.

In other words, Superman is a facsistic wish-fulfillment, a literal and figurative extension of the eugenics of the spiritual Third Reich. Batman is a sick sociopath, haunted by his impotence and forever dependent on criminality in order to give himself identity. Captain America is nothing more than a government tool. The Hulk is displaced rage with daddy issues.*

What about the poor, misunderstood supervillain? Doesn't he have motive? Doesn't he have good cause for what he does? Shouldn't his dreams matter?

Such is the case with Dr. Horrible. In act I, we quickly understand that Dr. Horrible is a puffed up, mostly harmless, social basket case. By the end of act II, we root for his cartoonish revenge fantasy, because we believe him to be wronged. By the end of act III, his dreams have simultaneously gone awry and come true, and we abruptly realize the depths of isolation that his success has brought him.

Dr. Horrible is, literally, all fun and games until someone loses a life. And it all started so innocently. Dr. Horrible, the incompetent, yet likable, blowhard confesses his love and ambition, and the viewers are inspired to take up his cause. Here's a guy who wants to be validated by membership in an exclusive club (the ridiculous-sounding Evil League of Evil) and get the girl of his dreams, Penny (Felicia Day). The absolutely goofy plot that develops dares the audience to take it lightly, and to vicariously hope for Dr. Horrible's too-perfect traditional hero foil (and jerk-of-all-trades), Captain Hammer (Nathan Fillion), to take one on his well-chiseled chin.

And, in Act III, he does. Dr. Horrible, in taking extreme measures by developing a lethal weapon (something that he found, in his saner moments to be unstylish), gets everything: Hammer is humiliated, people fear/respect Dr. Horrible and, by unintentionally killing Penny, he earns even the respect of Bad Horse, the Thoroghbred of Sin and head of the Evil League of Evil. At that point, when Dr. Horrible could come face-to-face with the consequence of his once-silly rage and once-overreaching ambition, he instead, reluctantly accepts the fruit of his sin, entering the League, reaping the fickle public's acclaim, and starting his quest in earnest to rule the planet. The audience, on the other hand, is left with broken hearts for a now incapacitated, weeping Captain Hammer and a dead Penny.

The last, brief image is that of Dr. Horrible, stripped of all artifice, staring blankly into the camera, feeling nothing.

This wasn't what many expected from something with the phrase "Sing-Along" in the title. But it is, in fact, the perfect title. The show says a great deal about what people have come to expect from their entertainment. It is alluring to live vicariously through the comic actions of bad characters. It is a standard trope that the traditional hero is, by definition, now considered to be, at best, a heavily compromised self-deception, and at worst, a greater problem than whatever evil faces us.

Dr. Horrible takes a lighthearted approach to temptation and sin, gives motive to wrath, revenge and power fantasies, and then pulls the curtain back to reveal what we all know inside: there are many ways to sugarcoat evil - downplay it, lampoon it, sympathize with it, explain it away, or laugh it up - but it is real, it is creeping, and it ultimately leaves us empty as a tomb.

And that is the story's genius. It succeeds as a laugh-out-loud comedy that leads us to the sobering conclusion that sin is nothing to joke about.

The shocking, tragic lesson of Dr. Horrible is that there is a deeply likable face of Wrong.

*It's not just comic books: the antihero-worship is an alternative for those who accept the musical accusation that "John Wayne was a Nazi" or the notion that subsistence is preferred to the risk of heroism.

Character Arc: Elmer Gantry

Before I saw the film, I'd always assumed that Elmer Gantry* followed the predictable stereotype of the religious huckster who demonstrated the ignorance of rural American Christianity (and, by association, all Christianity). In fact, most critics of Christian faith point to the character of Elmer Gantry when attempting to illustrate the hypocritical gap between faith and practice.

But that doesn't explain one of the most surprising and unapologetic character developments in film history, when Gantry, the womanizing huckster, the poser pastor, sets foot in a congregation that he has no intention of steering wrong, or steering at all.



This isn't a turning point for Gantry, but a character development that allows for a fully-realized, complex and, yes, sympathetic character to supercede any 2-dimensional stereotype that might be more comfortable to mock.

So, the next time you hear of a preacher being compared to Elmer Gantry, its probably a good idea to ask, "In what way?"

See also The Apostle with Robert Duvall.

*Note that I'm not talking about the book Elmer Gantry, by Sinclair Lewis. That one lives up to its anti-religious reputation with flying colors.** But, in this case, the film is a much more satisfying experience, even at the secular level.

**Often at the expense of the quality of the story. Lewis' internal tangents commit a sin far, far worse than violating religious decorum, they tell without showing, they tip his hand, and they take huge emotional shortcuts.

Character Creation and Arcs

Creation, both the act and the art, involve myriad details, but one that is frequently critical, but often overlooked, is change. Change, whether purposeful or unintentional, is a hallmark of most art. We say we are "moved" by art for a reason. Not only does it inspire an emotional, cognitive and spiritual response, but it also serves as a vehicle, to transport us from one place to another.

I think this is why character arcs matter so much in fiction. Characters that don't change over the course of a story are incapable of moving the reader. Inert characters inspire inertia: they are a form of anti-transport.

Jeff Gerke's Tips #3 and #4 (scroll down) go into the "how" of this in greater detail, but I think the why is important to remember. I think, if I get the chance, I'll intentionally take a look at the arcs of some characters and see if I can find the turning point of each, and determine what that means for the reader/viewer.

These Are the Stupid Things We've Been Waiting For

An intergalactic genius and people's hero has found those two stupid things that have been bugging every man, woman and child on the face of the planet since the dawn of gasoline and three-hole punching.

He invents a new form of government in the process.

Incidentally, the dawn of the modern three-hole punch has been traced to a 1940 issue of Popular Science.

Euhemerus Amok: Egypt's Long Tail (Tale)

Factotum's Rostrum has a cute observation on when historic analysis goes a bit too far on a bit too little.

Dr. Horrible Melts My Cold, Cold Heart with a Freeze Ray

Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog is set to stun.

Finally, the ancient question has been answered in the affirmative.

That question is, of course, "Can low-budget musical vlog that follows the budding career and withering heartbreak of a hapless evil genius give a heartless troll the goosebumps?"

Available now, but not forever...

Black Gate 12 Opens...Fantasy Awaits.

My favorite magazine* in all the world, Black Gate has just released its 12th issue.

I've got my copy, and only have begun to survey its topography. Every issue is an expedition, and this one looks to be no different, although it might be more adventurous than ever. In addition to top-flight tales of fantasy and adventure, spectacular illustrations, outstanding commentary, in-depth rpg and fiction reviews and the resurrection of long-forgotten pulp treasures, this special issue includes a self-contained solitaire role-playing game.

All for ten bucks. Editor John O'Neil and his minions have quite clearly lost their minds and have become drunk on the power that stems from unleashing pure art and wonder into the wilds of this planet.

I recommend you hunt a copy down before everyone hears about it and you have to wait in line for it.

*I use this term very loosely. The thing is an anthology of joy, with quality unsurpassed. But nobody knows what I'm talking about when I describe it that way, so I just say "magazine" for short.

Verdi's Anvil Chorus from Il Trovatore

...you know. Just because.



(Also because I celebrated the 4th of July by splitting wood. A lot of it. Every time I swung the hammer against the wedge, I'd catch myself humming Verdi.)

Hwaet, Me Worry?

If I seem on edge, it isn't because Ragnarok partially describes the future. It's because it accurately describes the near past and present.

The old Norse didn't know everything, but they had a pretty good handle on the strength of the world and its people, but also the fire and ice that burns and freezes inside creation and evelopes its destruction.

Ice can heal a wound, fire can light a path. But what did Smeagol scream when put in chains? "It burns! It freezes!" Destruction, too, can be ice and fire.

I see Ragnarok, not in a mythical time, but in ours, today. Today, I acknowledge the martyrs.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic

The Battle Hymn of the Republic has been in my cold black heart since Independence Day.

A song with such rich lyrics sometimes requires a little explanation.

Here's a wonderful version (by LiliAna) wherein the lyrics can be plainly heard:



And a poorer sound quality, but nonetheless unforgettable performance on our nation's most recent day of prayer, fasting and remembrance:

I, For One, Welcome Our New Web Content

Trolls are incredibly difficult to own. We are messy, we are loud, we are fiercely religious and we occasionally eat our masters.

But The Guild owns me. For now. I'm sure they are going to regret it once I drain Vork's supply of orange drink and release Clara's shoats into the wild, where they'll be better cared for by the snakes and coyotes.

But this extended interview by Zadi Diaz with show creator Felicia Day from the blog of Epic Fu does a great job of getting to the heart of at least one key facet of the art of start-up media: the origin of creation.

Rejection is Good

I rarely repeat myself, but I'm going to here:

I don't look at the fiction submission process as an interview where I am the candidate. I think of it as an editor search. An agent/editor is a book's first consumer. Write the right book and find the right first consumer and they'll be best positioned to match the book with a like-minded audience. A query letter isn't a "please love me" note - it is a ruthless way of culling out all the wrong people who aren't a good match for your stuff.

So, getting a lot of rejections doesn't mean you are a lousy writer, it means you are cutthroat and specific. You know what you are looking for, and you have the pile of rejected editors and agents to show for it.

Quick "no's" are critical. It's what the potential readers do all the time.

Agents/editors aren't evaluating you, you are evaluating them. You've got to rip through as many of them as you can in order to unearth the right one. Rejections are good.

Quick rejections are better.

FourFour Makes Friends While Not Here to Make Friends

I would embed it, but FourFour deserves a little recognition for his deep philosophical examination of the zeitgeist of the "bad guy" subculture of reality television. I hope he gets some friends out of this.

Excellence is Not a Democracy

When I wonder why what is great is not revered, why a person's best efforts are often overlooked, while mediocrity holds court, I must remember: excellence is a virtue, not a reward. Excellence makes enemies. Excellence, while benefiting others, is an unwanted goad to others. Excellence won't win you love or universal praise. It may not even sell your books.

Melville excelled in Moby Dick, but his earlier works, esp. Typee sold better in his day. Excellence is no guarantee of reward. There are shorter roads to reward, democratic ones, even.

The most excellent way has no correlation to personal gain or even enrichment. But it is at the heart of life, and those who go there would not trade the world for its adventure.

Liberty in America

Thank the Maker for our founders and our freedoms.

At the Mountains of Madness in Del Toro's Hands

There's a script review of Guillermo Del Toro's production of one of H.P. Lovecraft's greatest stories At the Mountains of Madness. I find the secular author's approach to the atheism of Lovecraft and the Christian elements included by Del Toro to be fascinating, for obvious reasons.

The tension between Lovecraft's* beautifully misanthropic thesis (that beauty, science, art and man are useless) and his efforts (namely: the studied portrayal of beauty, science art and man) is a wonder to behold, even seventy years after first publication. I can only imagine what Del Toro is going to go through to try realize this on film. Even a failure could be a wonderful one.

Some great insights and excellent questions are raised by Big Ross at CC2K.

Spoilers, obviously.

As if Lovecraft's words are mortal enough to be spoiled...

*Even old Howard's surname betrays him: Love. (Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. ) Craft. (Creation testifies to its own Maker.) Can something be simultaneously delicious and painful? Certainly. A diet of ice cream, after all, likely contributed to the great man's untimely demise.

Ass* Kicking Book Cover of the Day

The Personifid Invasion is set to release in October. I've never read R.E. Bartlett before, but I'm going to give this author a shot.

Yes, based on my judgment of a book's cover. Best one I've seen so far this year.

+

*Balaam's ass, of course. What were you thinking?

Euhemerus Amok: Thanking Jesus for Odin

Snorri Sturluson, one of my favorite humans, is the medieval Christian and an antiquarian most responsible for preserving our (still limited) knowledge of the old Norse myths and epics. Although we can glean some detail from Saxo Grammaticus, Saxo's nine books on the Norse myths serve much better as a critique of the old Norse religion than as a faithful preservation of its stories.

In any case, contributions like Sturluson's, and, to a degree, Saxo's, are often overlooked by the critic of Christ-following. Not only do the contributions of antiquarians provide a sober understanding of our place in history, but they provide much of the historic basis for the renewal of religions that would have otherwise become dead arts.

I wonder how often the neo-Odinist thanks the Christian for carrying enough of his spiritual ancestry forward so that he may approach life in adherence to his ancestral nine truths? I don't advance this to pick on anyone, more to point out that all off us have a lot of valuable things in our life because Christians in our past performed epic service to their fellow man.

I find that the critic of Christ is quick to bring up the crusades, the inquisition and witch trials. But if the critic has never heard of Snorri Sturluson, he's chosen a bad axe to grind.

It won't hold up in battle.

Clinically Lycanthropic Cultural Policy

Back in the 1980s, several clinicians revived the concept of perceived lycanthropy: the belief that one has memories of transforming into another animal, or the delusion that one has, in fact, transformed into an animal (not necessarily a wolf).

Lycanthropy has been a known rare but problematic mental and emotional disorder for milennia. Even the great tyrant Nebuchadnezzer "transformed" into a beast (in his mind) for seven years, bringing the government to a halt.

If clinical lycanthropy, the delusion that one is no different from an animal, is considered to be a mental illness, why then does it so acceptably drive social policy?

Oh well, gives me an excuse to link to apes. I love apes. You know, in a totally species-appropriate way.

Keeping Harmless Flirting Harmless

I'll admit something here that I wouldn't anywhere else. I have a bad crush.

The woman is rich. She's beautiful. And she doesn't know I exist.

I want to keep it that way. I certainly think that if I asked her out, the fantasy would be ruined. Besides, there's a big part of me that knows I'm not worthy.

She's one of those supermodel types that no one ever seems to have the courage to approach.

Her name is Wisdom, and she's so lonely I've heard the woman calling out from the roof of her nearby house to see if anyone might notice her.

Please don't tell her I'm interested. After all, the reality could never live up to the dream, right?

Inside the Mind of a Troll (an inevitably short trip)

So, to the one cricket chirping in the dark corner, here's your customized glimpse inside my mind:

In the process of ignoring an unformed notion regarding Strato of Lampsacus I started to think more about the peripatetic school of philosophy, so I began to walk about without making the conscious recognition that my body was playing out the very definition of peripatetic in an attempt to puzzle out the thing I didn't know I wasn't thinking about.

I decided right there that my walking should have a purpose, so as not to appear mad or distracted, I went to get some crackers, because if I know one thing it is this: food has purpose. One cannot be mad in its quest. The only crackers I could find were Frito-Lay's "Cheetos" brand, the kind with "golden toast" flavor crackers and a pseudocheese colloid wedged between the sections.

Although instead of reading "golden toast" on the package, I thought it said "golden toads" and I thought how much more interested I would have been in an animated version of the Henry Fonda/Katherine Hepburn film "On Golden Pond," which, of course, would have been named "On Golden Toads."

Therefore I was thinking about movies and Cheetos and I thought of galactically famous movie star/internet mogul Felicia Day* who combined my favorite contributions to human culture of the last fifty years: television commercials and artificial food packaging in one masterful stroke in, of all things, a Cheetos advertisement.

In attacking hunger I thought more deeply about hunger, and that sensation's dependence on the hypothalamus to alert the body of its cravings, and how hypothalamus basically means, in Greek, "below the chamber;" the chamber, of course, being the "thalamus" of the brain, and how the folks who invented the Greek language had a descendent named Strato whose, ahem, pedestrian, if not downright non-existent contribution to the philosophy of virtue, was responsible for this entire vapor trail of thought.

So now you know. And knowing is half the battle. Which reminds me...



*Felicia Day is once removed (i.e. 2 degrees) from Kevin Bacon, by Ingrid Oliu - i.e. the original Officer Montoya in the animated Batman series. The Montoya character has eventually become a latter-day incarnation of The Question, a character who first appeared in Blue Beetle #1 and was the inspiration for the Watchmen character Rorschach, whose viscous mask resembles a "living" Rorschach test. I believe Hermann Rorschach studied under Carl Jung, who is responsible for the development of the modern concept of psychological archetypes. According to Jung, the hero archetype was nearly universal in all societies, and depicted a person who defeats evil, suffers punishment for the sake of others and rescues the vanquished. Which basically describes Codex in The Guild, a character played by -- of course -- Felicia Day.

Fear of Girls 3 Wall Poster

Game on.

Okay, not so much a wall poster, and somewhat closer to a .jpg, but still. I haven't felt this way since I caught first glimpse in '77 of a bare-chested Luke and red carpet-ready Leia prepared for battle.*

Fear of Girls 3 is going to take the world by storm. It is the story of America. Told with dice. Through a retainer.

*and two fairly confused droids in the background.

Higgins Stands Where She Should, Not Where I Stood

Missy Higgins really gets a lot of photobooth photos for $4. And a great song.



Where I Stood.

F is for Fire that Burns Down the Whole Town*

I climbed a high tower, looked over the land, and saw water where there should be no water, fire where there should be no fire, and a moon turned to blood.

Somehow, St. John on Patmos doesn't seem so delirious to me.

I'm going to admit something: I get a kick out of the apocalypse. Pure entertainment. That's not to say that I don't take the writings of John seriously. I do.

But man oh man does the book of Revelation inspire some cool stuff: big godzilla monsters coming out of oceans to join forces with, then fight and torture a beast-riding queen of religion and whoring, hailstorms of superbug disease cupcakes, trumpets rolling out the best of Count Basie in a syncopated rythym to beat the devil.

I'm translating loosely, but still. Hellhorses, 200 million man armies at war, blood to the bridles, falling stars, thirsty dragons.

Yum. But you've got to remember that I'm the sort of troll who gets a kick out of cleaning out hog lots and dining on chilli dog spaghetti burittos.

I'm thick in the skull, so I can only afford to spend most of my time just bowing my neck and pushing forward in the Word, and trying hard not to fight against the scarylove Ru'ach of Jesus. I've got to leave the real End of Days to brighter minds than mine.

But I do have fun looking in on the apocalyptic expressions of others:

Apocalypse Soon
Berean Call
The always hilarious* Rapture Ready (I hope those manuals never come in handy for me.)
The God Still Loves Us forums... where being crazy and wrong never felt so good and friendly.

Oh, there are a jillion of them out there. There is plenty of pop-apocalypse, both Christian and non, that borders on (or even bathes in) the asinine. For example, I'm pretty certain that, despite the contemporary protests to the contrary, neither Ronald Wilson Reagan (good ol' 666) nor Barack Hussein Obama fit the profile of the Antichrist as described in the bible.

But the links above are reasoned and worked at. Even if they don't get everything right (because, after all, who does?) they do a good job of citing actual sources and doing their level best to comprehend something as wild and incomprehensible as the End of Days.

*Thanks, Plankton. I feel tingly inside too.

**to those, like me, who find Johnny Cash/Shel Silverstein meditations on death to be a hoot.

Nothing to Fear but Fear of Girls 3

Fear of Girls 3 has entered post-production.* Tom Lommel, Scott Jorgenson and the versatile (and athletically lanky) Charles Hubbell reunite for a lonesome ride through the dark heart of nerdiness.

The powers that be say to expect release in August. Or so.

This episode is going to be the greatest one so far, just like all the third installments of American classics like Goldfinger, Army of Darkness, Naked Gun 33 1/3rd, The Godfather III, Superman III, Jaws 3-D and Revenge of the Nerds III: The Next Generation.

I'll admit I haven't seen that last one, but, come on, it has the best of the Carradine brothers and Curtis Armstrong. Bob Younger and Herbert Viola? It can't miss.

*This is insider lingo which means, roughly, "I have no idea how movies are made, or the proper terminology necessary to fake it."

Mix and Match Apocalypse

I abandoned the floodwaters of Iowa for wildfires in the Great Dismal Swamp of Virginia.

Which leads me to wonder: why aren't there more steam-related natural disasters?

Omega Point Follow-Up

The all-too-common "omega point" science fiction tale either intentionally or by design is an attempt to discredit Christian faith by acknowledging it as an out-of-date evolutionary step in the progress of man (never mind that the core tenets of God-faith are no different today than they were "In the Beginning," nor that Jesus was perfect in every way, and no man has been his equal in morals or ethics before or since his crucifixion*). Very often -- and here, I think it is its draw -- the attraction of omega point stories is that they come off as a sort of "Christianity Lite" with impossibly dark undertones when put to the test.

I recently read a book that updates the Omega Point a little. I won't mention it by title because warning people off of other artist's work isn't something I generally do. The plot hinged on a cult leader/scientist (who didn't believe the religious gobbledygook that he spewed) dying and becoming the accidental martyr of the new religion. By a miracle of science, a computer set up by the cult leader begins to impart godlike wisdom, eventually revealing itself to be god, and inviting humanity to accelerate its religious evolution by recognizing, and giving themselves over to an "everywhere, everything" concept of the Christ.

For some reason, even the most skeptical rationalist gets the creeps when someone brings up the Antichrist. What is more remarkable to me is how oblivious we are to the deadly beauty and unconscious magnetic pull of the Pseudochrist, of which Antichrist is only one type.

*In other words, faith in Messiah, is, historically, the original faith. Ask Abel. Though dead, he still speaks.

Back to Newton and Leibniz

Because disco never died - it just became formulaic.

I don't care if you convert.

This is one of those rare times when I mean you as you and not me, not that you are reading this anyway, so I'm really only addressing the you that lives in my head, which isn't fair.

Anyway, I don't care if you "convert." Of course, I'm a pretty bad person at heart, and it isn't as if I'm always looking after your best interest.

But conversion would be good for you. Even I know that.

I'll even give you a few steps on how to do it:

1) Stop.
2) Turn yourself around.
3) Walk the other way.
4) Consider how close you are to perfection...or how far. When will you achieve it? You know the answer to this.
5) Consider God's Kingdom. I don't need to define it for you - even the darkest heart knows what it is.
6) Consider Christ's sacrifice. You know that too. Even the rocks do, and you are smarter (usually) than them.
7) Seek Him.

God is humble. I'm not.

I hope this bothers you. Deeply.

Eldritch Error and the Midnight Question

What if absolutely everything upon which your life is predicated is a mistake?

Goodnight Girl - the Nadas

It is weird to get nostalgic for a pub I never set foot in.



The Nadas new record, The Ghosts Inside These Halls, is outstanding.

The Gullible Kid Revolution

When I was just a little shoat*, I could get suckered a thousand ways, but I prided myself on my ability, at a very early age, to identify the wholesale fraud perpetrated on the last page of every comic book. Whether the final ad was promoting x-ray specs or a life-sized Frankenstein for $1.00, something in my bones assured me that I'd be disappointed if I ever defaced my precious comic by clipping out the order form and sending my check, money order, or loose change to the company.

Even my impressionable young mind could comprehend that Frankenstein did not come to your house for a dollar. So I contented myself with simply imagining how great the toys looked in the ads, realizing, deep down, that anything you got for a dollar was probably made out of paper and mailed postage due.

My favorite dream ad that never suckered me was "204 Revolutionary War Soldiers - Only $1.98." The layout was similar to the "100 Piece Toy Soldier Set with Footlocker - $1.25": rows of army men engaged in bloody combat. But, the WWII motiff, while engaging, was not as substantial as the Americans and Redcoats. This isn't entirely due to sheer numbers (204 Revolutionary soldiers obviously being more than twice the number of WWII guys. The key to understanding a boy's heart - quantity - notwithstanding, there was something more "believable" about the 204. I think it had something to do with the battleships - their mere presence in the WWII ad made it too obviously impossible to deliver.

I could get gypped a lot of ways in life, but there was no way I was ever going to get snookered by an obvious shell game, and I secretly gloated over the stupid kid who I imagined falling for it, and upon receipt of the order, being instantly crushed by both the chintziness of the crummy toy (which I imagined to be cardboard or paper-thin plastic cut-outs - that you had to cut out yourself - as you might find on the back of box of cereal. And not a good box of cereal - something like King Vitamin or generic corn puffs) and the poor kid's own sense of self-worth plummeting like a stone.

I might not have been exactly master and commander, but at least I knew who I was better than: the dumb kid who bought the promise of re-enacting the Revolutionary War in his bedroom for less than 2 bucks.

Until I came across this: 204 Revolutionary War Soldiers, as ordered back in the day, complete with shipping box.

It's...it's...it's more than I could have ever imagined.

And, I dunno, I can imagine quite a bit.

But here they are - real plastic soldiers in two different colors that are almost three-dimensional and cannons that are nearly 4 inches long! These are better than the cool drawing.

The ad artwork was indeed misleading, but not in the way I thought: it underpromised.

So here I sit, nearly thirty years after the fact, wishing I had allowed myself to be gullible one more time, to take a shot at losing two bucks in exchange for the promise of an army set that would have stretched across the concrete of the bedroom floor, conquering it.



*Que sera sera.

Shut Up and Write You Stupid Writers

Okay, maybe the post title is my own creation, but the inspiration is all Mike Duran.

Now, my posterior is far wide enough to sit comfortably on both sides of the fence on just about any issue, which, according to one of Martin Luther's Lectures on Genesis*, makes me a drunk.

*I think. Don't quote my source, as my memory is addled.

First, They Came for the Snacks...

24-Hour Dorman explores a libertarian's nightmare dystopia of banned cupcakes.

Demon Takes Silver: Thanks God it Isn't a Werewolf

ForeWord Magazine has announced its Book of the Year Award winners.

My favorite book of 2007, Demon: A Memoir has taken the silver medal in its category.

Incidentally, the full list of winners, medalists, and finalists provides a pirate's chest of the treasure from independent presses.

Congratulations, Tosca Lee, and all the authors recognized by ForeWard Magazine.

I think this means I have taste. Chili dogs and rotgut are on the house...er, cave!

Write Justified

Writers spend a lot of time justifying their own existence, mostly to themselves.* A lot of work goes into defending art, and the art of writing, in particular, demonstrating the practical benefits of writing, and the importance that reading holds for the culture.

Many high-faluting** words later, and the writer is in no better standing.

As it should be.

Because writing isn't important. It isn't a signficant contribution to society, regardless of the 15-second soundbite paid to its importance once a year during the Academy Award ceremony.

And that's how I like it. Whether we are firing off an opinionated missive, or finalizing a draft of the Great Armenian Novel,*** I think the most important goal an author can have is to be the least in the Kingdom.

May your writing bear fruit that nourishes. But be happy to finish in last place. That's where the best work happens.

*Mostly because no one else is listening to them.

**Yes, how random of me to rescue the "-in'" suffix from colloquial purgatory while living in place the bastardization of the "highflight" root from which "highfalutin'" stems. I'm a messy rescuer.

***Because, really there hasn't been a huge number of great works out of Armenia since Tmpgaperti Aroume, and everybody and his dog has written the Great American one.

Korea: Unified and Free

I've been praying for a unified Korea. When I do this, I sort of assume that God knows that, included in that request is an obvious assumption that I also therefore pray for a free North Korea.

But as I consider this, liberty and unification are not truly ends. We're not talking about joining the Dakotas, after all. There is a greater disparity today between North Korea and South Korea than existed between East and West Germany in 1989. The dictatorship in place is relatively independent as opposed to the Soviet puppetry in place at the end of East Germany.

So, when I pray for the miracle of freedom, food, infrastructure and eventual unification with the South, I recognize a need to extend that prayer for the decades following severe "post-totalitarian stress disorder" as well as for the people of free Korea, who will obviously welcome reuniting with their countrymen, but will also have a new burden to bear.

I hope this doesn't sound political. Because it isn't.

Foul Balls in Center Field

To celebrate the boys of summer, I present the catchiest tune from the most clueless baseball player/lyricist in the history of the game.



Confusion and defeat has never been more inspirational. Thanks, Matt & Kim!

[Lightspeed - Matt & Kim]

Science: No Place for Consensus

"Scientific" consensus sucks. It is science-defeating. It is anti-science.

Isaac Newton's "laws" of physics were unbreakable until that ding-dong Al Einstein guessed that Mercury should do a galactic jitterbug in the sky due to gravity's impact on light wave-particles.* Heck, we still cling to those laws, because, for everyday living, they do the job pretty well.

The problem is that scientific consensus usually does the job of keeping things running smoothly, until it doesn't. People forget that Galileo's problem wasn't that he was a man of science taking on the Catholic Church: he was a man of science taking on scientific consensus. The Catholics just happened to be in bed with the reigning consensus of the day.

So here's my word of advice: when they say "consensus," you say "Galileo."

*Kids: please don't use me for homework. Suck it up and borrow the Cliff's Notes guide to Quantum Physics from the deadbeat in the back of class. Oh wait. That's me. Proceed.

Scott Jorgenson Reigns Quietly Over Lap-Band Ad

I just caught one of my all-time favorite actors in the history of the galaxy last night at 2* in the morning on a commercial for Lap-Band adjustable gastric banding system.

In the brief, but moving, drama, Scott Jorgenson complains about his knees with Shakespearean acumen. It takes up about 2 or 3 seconds of screen time, but it haunts me still. Unfortunately, the good people at Lap-Band have only released their commercial at their proprietary site, so I'm unable to embed the performance here.

So go here and click on "View Our Commercial" to enjoy Mr. Jorgenson's riveting performance. Or to learn more about putting a remote-control tourniquet on your innards. Frankly, it sounds like a fun past time, but I don't think I'd like the side effect of wanting to eat less.

Scott Jorgenson: every man's everyman. Next up: Fear of Girls 3.

*This is my dilemma: I can sleep a full 3 hours every night, or I can strain arcane knowledge from the electronic underworld of the mid-night hours. How would you split the baby?

Weezer: Pork and Beans

There's nothing more delicious than pork and beans and the Internet.



Weezer is so lame. Greatly lame, that is.

Ancient Observation of the Gryffin

Adrienne Mayor is an independent scholor who studies ancient folklore and attempts to plot it against known archaeology and geology. This method led her to a conclusion that the ancient mythological beasts, at least some of them, have their origins in the scientific observation of the day, not sheer flights of fancy. In other words, the ancients were astute fossil hunters and reconstructive archaeologists and anthropologists.

A part of me wonders that if Mayor's basic assumptions are correct, is it not possible that the ancients were also astute naturalists, as well? Is it at all within the realm of scientific possibility, that the bones where fossils now lie were once, more recently than we might normally make conjencture, covered in flesh?

Greek Fire and the Silent Death of the A-bomb.

Greek Fire was the most formidable naval and siege weapon in Byzantine, and, likely, pre-modern, history.

It could burn on (or even under) water, lighting whole ships afire, and its composition was a closely guarded secret (indeed, even today, there is debate over its composition.)

How does such a weapon get lost to history? It is incredible that such a military advantage would not again appear until the Great War with the modern flamethrower.

The atomic bomb and its more impressive progeny may well be headed for the same fate. Now, I know, I know, there are plenty of parties interested in proliferating nuclear weapons from now until Judgment Day (perhaps even to hasten it) but culturally, we've moved on: the days of the Cuban Missle Crisis, the Midnight Clock...even Godzilla movies are now a part of an almost quaint history.

Perhaps a weapon that is so devastating that it has only been used once (well, twice) since its invention creates its obsolescence through its very power. Or perhaps it will lay latent for decades or centuries, awaiting its revival.

Just like Greek Fire.

Pearl Bailey and Dinah Shore Sing About Serial Murder

Bailey and Shore tear into Mack the Knife:

One thing I can say about the evil we've brought into the world is that it gave Dinah and Pearl great subject matter to lampoon. God bless those great ladies.

The Strug Gambit and Glory

Because it is the weekend, and, when humans do something astounding, you never forget it:



One foot, man.

One foot.

Kerri Strug sacrificed her foot to secure gold for her team, costing her the only shot she would ever have at individual glory. Sacrifice isn't always a long, drawn-out deliberation. She had prepared her entire life for glory, and, at glory's cusp, instead chose sacrifice.

And gained glory.

Funny that.

Guild Season FINALE: Boss Fight

Guilders:

Man up.

And woman.

Up, that is.

Internet Killed the Video Star - With a Uke, a Harp and a Bass

The Wrong Trousers get it right.

Penrose-Carter Diagram of the Finite Observer Looks A Lot Like Einstein

Einstein didn't know the guy, but he loved his work.

Great little sidebar: A mother brought her son to the rabbi, and the rabbi said to the boy; “I will give you a guilder if you can tell me where God lives.” The boy thought for only a moment and then said, “And I will give you two guilders if you can tell me where he doesn’t live.”

Heresy, Apostasy and the Lovecraft Error

Recently, I've run into a glut of people who are always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.* Somewhere along the line, they've traded the adage "One never stops learning" for a counterfiet: "One never starts learning."

I suppose it is sort of Zen to "learn by not learning," but, in effect, it is no different than good, old-fashioned "not learning."

These people are not heretical in their attitude towards one's ability to comprehend. I wish that they were. Heresy is an error in thought or expression that can, if unchecked, lead to problems in execution. But the "everlearner who never learns" is an apostate. They've educated themselves well on the ins and outs of any given instruction, and choose to fall into the shadow of that instruction instead of walking in its light.

Now, to be clear, the state of heresy or apostasy is only one that can be applied to those who would otherwise claim Christ. In other words, non-believers can't possibly qualify as apostates or heretics - this is a misunderstanding that many non-Christians have (that all Christians view them as heretics, or apostates. Don't worry, non-believer - you are simply a heathen!)

However, as far as these theological concepts can be translated and applied in a different fashion, you just know I'm going to do it.

One of my favorites is what I call the "Lovecraft Literary Error." I enjoy the strange, cosmic stories of H.P. Lovecraft very much, but I have no illusions that his beliefs (which run completely counter to my own) held a heavy influence upon his work. Atheists with a penchant for the weird honor Lovecraft as one of the forefathers of speculative atheism. What strikes me as counterintuitive, however, is that a devout atheist would see fit to create an entire cosmology of alien races, posing (unintentionally or otherwise) as uncaring gods in an indifferent universe in order to demonstrate that the indifferent universe was cold to humanity. Good ol' ld H.P. made up some might hot gods in order to demonstrate their icy non-existence, I must say. Fortunately for his fans, Lovecraft's object was not to write religious allegory, but to make up some awfully throttling yarns.

How exactly does the horrifying image of a slumbering, octopus-headed Cthulhu demonstrate a lifeless universe? How exactly does the sneering diabolic plots of a soul-crushing Nyarlathotep demonstrate that man is without soul?

They don't.

The creative, emotional pull of Lovecraft's horrors can only be described in religious terms. There is no "no-God" in the Lovecraft-created world, despite there being a "no-God" in Lovecraft's personal worldview. His argument, of course, would be that the mystical creatures are, at turns, a lampoon of the supernatural and/or evidence that the created beings populating his books are evidence that human creativity is our only solace in a loveless cosmos. But I never get the impression that Lovecraft is trying his hand at satire, and I don't buy that human creativity would serve as anything but a humiliating goad if, in fact, human creativity was, truly at heart, nothing but a rigged, emotional shell game.

The Lovecraft Error occurs when one attempts to discredit a thesis by evoking the tropes of that thesis to prove its opposite. It is when, for example, atheists are forced (by their own admission) to develop "proxy liturgies" in order to touch on matters of the (non-existent) spirit. Theoretically, it could also occur if a Christian were to attempt to implement (not exploit) nihilism in a story in order to demonstrate man's dependence on God, although I'm not even sure how such an attempt might function.

If you've ever seen the Christian ixthus "fish" sign on the back of a car with feet "evolving" on it and DARWIN filling its belly, then you've seen the Lovecraft Error in action. Any Darwinist with a modified religious symbol on the back of his car is unconsciously admitting that a) Christian symbols are worthy of co-option and that b) Darwinism should be adhered to in a religious manner.

The Lovecraft Error artfully, probably unintentionally, demonstrates reason's blind spot. And if there's one thing I've learned from you people of earth, it is that reason, most certainly, overlooks its own faults.

*Second letter to Timothy.

Motivational Word of the Day

Mindflights has been serializing Jane Lebak's Seven Archangels: Annihilation for a while.

If you haven't been reading it, you are a stupid idiot.

How's that for motivation?

[And anyone who doesn't realize that "stupid idiot" isn't stupidly redundant is so stupid that it makes me stupider than I already am, who is pretty darn stupid in the natural.*]

*I've been put in "stupid" jail by my shoats who are on "Dad, we don't say 'stupid' in our house" patrol. I must unleash the stupid somewhere. Looks like you just won the word lottery, gypsy.

Cowboy Poets: The Descent

Baxter Black - Pink Fuzzy Slippers



Versus

Billy James - One Cent Stamp



Versus

Tex Haper - New Wave Country

Tom Lommel: International Champion of Championhood

I think it is finally time to admit it:



I love the Lommel.

Oh, wait. I admitted that in '07. Well, it's time to update the admission. Or re-admit. Or admit again.

I'm a repeat admitter.

PS - Doug Doug makes a cameo. Yes!

How to Kneel Before General Zod

Unsolicited Advice for the Zeus of Political Mythology

One more political statement, and then I'll have completed my entire campaign for County Coroner/Dog Catcher.

Accusing someone of "just speaking from the Democratic/Republican (or other)" talking points is not debate. Maybe the talking points are brilliant. Maybe the person believes the point they are making. Maybe the opponent is right. Those talking points have been researched, crafted and vetted for a reason. If there is a flaw in them, expose the flaw.

Like it or not, talking points are, generally, substantial arguments. Calling arguments talking points is a way to avoid debate, not to engage in one.

Accusing someone of a rhetorical fallacy is, often, a rhetorical fallacy. Everyone on the internet has "strawman" "ad hominem" "post hoc" "appeal to authority" and all the rest memorized, or at least bookmarked.

Listen to what your opponent is meaning. Stop looking for loopholes to give yourself a technical fall.

Persuasion is an art. Don't do it by numbers.

Those are my talking points.

Scared? Really?

I'm not one for human politics, but there's been a new fad circulating that I really must crush swiftly.

"Scared."

That's got to go, people.

Almost every partisan I've heard has, at least once, resorted to the "I'm really scared of what may happen to this country if So-and-So gets the nomination."

I've heard people express "fear" of what would become of their nation under a Reagan Administration, a Clinton Administration, a Bush Administration. I recall Republicans absolutely gasping for breath after being "drowned" in Clinton for eight years, and I hear the same gasping this year, now coming from downtrodden Democrats.

But...

Really?

"Scared?"

As in, "My life, liberty and choices will fundamentally change for the worse if some politician gets a job and that makes me scared?"

People.

Calm down. If you've never led a rearguard action against the roving Stone Imps of the Mystery Leviathan, you may want to re-apply your use of the word "scared." That, my (imaginary) friends, was scary. Voting for a civil servant, even if he's sort of corrupt, or stupid, vain or mean-spirited, isn't going to thawart the restoration of your nation's mythical glory.

Because you live in a free nation, I'm afraid the duty for participating in the country's glory falls on someone else's shoulders.

Yours.

Keep in mind that, my simple public expression (whether you agree with it or not) by its very existence proves unequivocably that Orwell's nightmare scenario has in no way descended upon this nation (and, if you needed this blog to prove that to you, well...you're welcome.) And Clinton didn't turn this country into an orgy of selfish cultural cannibalism either.

Your cute little nation, with its ideals of debate and independence, representation and minority voices, still stands. Trust me, when the trolls take over, you'll know. The good news is, you won't have to worry about voting for the one who loses the contest. The bad news is, you won't have a vote at all.*

*[And the really good news is that Trollkind is pretty disorganized and generally underachieves. Once we tried to organize a raiding party, but ended up just wandering around at the mall.]

Decanal Adjectives of Majestic Authority

These days, adjectives (and their even more despised kin, adverbs) are as unwelcome as a barnacle on a beauty queen.

Some of this has to do with the prejudice of an increasingly ignorant readership. That's right, I said it again: humans are stupider about words than they used to be. [Way smarter about pictures, though, but don't tell them I said so.]

Some of this has to do with the prejudice of an increasingly prickly batch of publishers who have seen far more adjective abuse than any creature ever should.

Adjectives are easy to strike. Their presence doesn't technically change the objective meaning of a sentence.

But they shouldn't be carelessly expelled. Wouldn't it be great if writers could still get away with absolutely brilliant prose like:

It was truly an awful moment; with terror in that ancient and accursed house itself, four monstrous sets of fragments-two from the house and two from the well-in the woodshed behind, and that shaft of unknown and unholy iridescence from the slimy depths in front.

~H.P. Lovecraft - The Colour Out of Space

I say bury 'em in adjectives. It'll at least give the copy editor something to do.